


Normality

by CircleReadd



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Chubby Reader, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Reader has female anatomy, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, reader is female, reader uses she/her pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleReadd/pseuds/CircleReadd
Summary: You and Sans were very close; you saw him and talked to him nearly everyday. Your friendship was familiar, comfortable and relaxed, but things get cosier still on a impromptu night out with friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a one-shot that started getting way too long so I've divided it into chapters. Here's the first part to whet your appetite.

One day, you took stock of your life, whilst walking to catch the train home from work, and found that, somehow, you had become friends with a Monster.

The “Monster” part was not the surprising aspect of that statement. Though Monsters had only re-joined society a few years ago, aside from a few teething problems, they had blended in fairly well with surface life, gravitating towards cities where the communities were more diverse and accepting. Not perfect, by any means – hateful pockets of discrimination and prejudice still existed even amongst humans themselves – but it was still a damn-sight better than trying to assimilate with the tight-knit communities that dwelled in the country sides, where everyone knew everyone’s name and everyone’s business, and the only newcomers that weren’t under intense scrutiny were new-born, Human babies.

No, the surprising part of your realisation was that you had even made a friend out of him at all, Monster or no. Not that you were _bad_ at making friends. It’s just, from time to time, you found you would wake up in a sudden moment of self-awareness and realise what had become your normality, in contrast to what no longer was. You woke up at the beginning of your journey home after a long day at work, to find that you were single, living miles and miles from your family and every person you knew was a connection built out of your own volition. Also, somehow, Sans the Skeleton was alongside you en-route, talking with you quietly in his low, weighted drawl about normal things. Your shared normality. Your ears hooked notice on the scuffing noise his shoes made as he shuffled along, as though they hadn’t been making that noise for the past ten minutes as his lazy feet barely left the ground.

“You’ll ruin the soles of your shoes, doing that,” you interjected your own conversation. His eyes glanced sideways towards you as his voice paused, registering what you said before giving a single-syllable chuckle.

“Sorry, Mom.”

You delivered the palm of your hand, flat, into his shoulder, giving him a playful shove, your mouth twisted in an attempt to keep yourself from smiling. A grin still managed to crack out of the corners of your mouth, though.

You and Sans worked in quite close proximity to each other, but met through play, as opposed to work. You had finished your shift one evening at the little cake shop situated smack-bang in the centre of the city, and you and a bunch of your co-workers had all decided to blow off some steam at the bar down the street, in a self-awarded congratulation for making it through the week. It was only going to be a quick drink. A swift half. But as one would expect from a gaggle of six twenty-somethings, one drink led to another several. Before any of you knew it, it was hours later and you were banded together in a giggling, drunken cluster on the small dance floor of the bar, holding drinks in your hands that spilled slightly over the edges of their glasses as you all bopped and wiggled and swayed to the music. Giggles would occasionally erupt into cackles and howls of laughter as you each tried to out-do each other with your best, ironic Dad-at-a-wedding dance.

One clear definition between Humans and Monsters (beside the obvious visual cues) was that dancing was something Monsters took considerably more seriously. As a rule, Humans were a typically more sarcastic and ironic race, and dancing, though taken seriously in more professional circumstances, was often for the common-man nothing less than an opportunity to get laughs out of your peers by doing it as stupidly as possible. The Human to Monster ratio that evening was definitely in favour of the former, but there were still a fair few monsters around, in groups and in pairs, who stole glances at you and your friends and cracked smiles, amused by your amusement, but still not sure what it was you were trying to achieve by dancing like weirdos. Truly, though, it was an evening of warm and peaceful co-existence, in the soft, yellowed atmosphere of the bar, as it hummed with music. All was well.

Another song came to a close and segued into the next, and it was at this point you had decided to step out of the bubble of silly dancing and head towards the bar to get yourself another drink. You paused on your short journey, however, to look back at your friends with a small smile. You woke up in a moment of self-awareness, at the edge of the unmarked dance floor, to find that you were single, living miles and miles from your family and every person you knew was a connection built out of your own volition. In your foggy, tipsy haze, your smile grew wider, a swell of happiness and pride blooming across your chest. Well done, girl. You were happy.

It was at this moment you met Sans. You had turned to continue to the bar, and bumped lightly into the side of somebody you hadn’t realised was there.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you’d said casually, turning your head in acknowledgement to face them, but in a rare instance with situations such as these, your eyes caught theirs. You both paused, as you took in the Monster’s face for a short moment before smiling warmly and reaching out to touch his arm, repeating more purposefully, with a laugh “I’m sorry!”

“That’s ok,” he assured you, the toothy smile set in his face widening as he mirrored your action, placing his own hand on your other arm “No harm done.”

You weren’t usually one to just touch strangers, but the consumption of alcohol always made you a bit friendlier, and you glowed with the fact that he had returned your action, welcoming your friendliness. The Monster before you could really only be described as a skeleton – he was a little shorter than you, and was stocky and somehow-podgy, despite being made only of bone. You supposed just because he was a skeleton didn’t mean that he had to be anatomically correct with the human form; he was a Monster, after all. Everything about him was rounded and cartoonish, from his head to his fingers, even to the pot belly that somehow filled out the short-sleeved, white t-shirt he was wearing. Over his arm hung a puffy blue jacket, with a hood lined in grey faux-fur.

There was a stillness between you for just a few seconds, as though you were caught on one another, lagging in time, until you had finally puffed a small, silent laugh through your nose and asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

The skeleton blinked, his smile faltering in slight surprise as awkwardness then creased a little at his eye sockets.

“Oh, I uh… I already have one,” he said, holding up the drink in his hand that you hadn’t noticed, with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Oh!” you gave a small laugh, shrinking back a little, before shrugging, yourself, with a grin “Well, never mind, the offer still stands if you change your mi-“

“But I can buy you one, though,” he suggested, gesturing to your own empty glass. You glanced at it, too, then beamed in acceptance, shimmying your shoulders haughtily for comedic effect as you followed him to the bar. He grinned at you over his shoulder, then bowed towards you to say next to your ear, over the noise “I’m Sans, by the way. Sans the Skeleton.”

“Interesting. I’m Reader.”

“Reader, huh? That’s a new one…”

“It serves its purpose.”

Sans had been visiting the bar alone, doing as you and your friends were doing and winding down after a day at work. Apparently, he worked close by, at a little fast-food place, selling hotdogs to pay the bills, and after you mentioned that you, yourself worked for a cake shop, you both laughingly agreed that you would drop in on each other every now and again; he’d provide lunch if you provided dessert.

You spent the remainder of the evening in each other’s company, just talking and laughing. He told a lot of jokes, and would grin with satisfaction every time you cringed at the cheesiness, and the glowing dots in his empty eye sockets would sparkle every time you made the effort to play along with an equally awful pun. He came and danced with you and your friends, relishing in the irony, and you came and stood outside with him as he puffed on a cigarette, watching in interest as the smoke seeped out of his eyes, his nose, from between his teeth. Even faint little wisps escaped from beneath the wrists of the sleeves of his jacket.

Something about Sans made you feel very calm, that night. You enjoyed his company – he was interesting to speak to, and to just be around; a very relaxed and low-energy kind of person, a disposition that you found contagious as you would sit, smiling, beside him with your chin in your hand and your eyes closed. You were admittedly a little disappointed when you had parted ways without exchanging phone numbers or adding each other on social media. However, the disappointment was short lived, when he came into your work a couple of days later with a hotdog for you to have for lunch that day. It was at this point that you asked for his phone, punched in your digits and rang yourself so you had each other’s phone numbers, instructing him to text you, sometime. And then as he had left with a couple of slices of cake, your co-workers smirked at you, knowingly, jeering at your bright, red face when one asked if you were going to get _boned_ soon. And it got worse when another pointed at your hotdog and shouted that he’d already _given you the sausage._

It wasn’t like that, at all, though.

“Hey, Reed, are you in there?” you snapped back to reality to find that you and Sans had arrived at the train station “You seemed to be lost in some deep thought, there, pal.”

You shook your head, smiling as you teased “I was just thinking about _you_ , dear.”

Sans snorted, giving you a light shove, before you both passed through the barriers and then waved each other goodbye as you headed to different platforms to make your separate journeys home. You’d become quite close over the months that you’d known each other, but you were pretty sure the most romantic affection held between the two of you was just the joking act of _pretending_ there was romantic affection.

* * *

 

“Hey, Sans. What can I get for you, today?” It was a half past noon, on a cold January day, the air laced with the crisp smell of frost, and you had spotted Sans shuffling frigidly down the street towards your shop, all bundled up in that puffy, fur-lined jacket he always wore, steam huffing out of the empty holes in his head as hot air exited his body. You’d quickly moved to open the door for him, greeting him with a warm smile as he hastened in, shaking off the cold “It’s a bit nippy out there, isn’t it?”

“You’re not kiddin’! You’d think I’d be used to the cold, living in Snowdin all those years, but this surface world. With its _wind_ , Christ!” San’s eye sockets went black as he swore, his toothy mouth a stiff line, before the little pinhole lights flickered back in and his smile returned “You’re lucky the cake here is so damn good, otherwise I wouldn’t have even thought about comin’ over here.”

“Good ol’ Reader, servin’ up sweetness,” you winked and stuck out your tongue.

“Please. I know you don’t make these things, you just sell ‘em.”

You lifted your hands and shrugged, before you caught him leaning forward to eye the cakes in the display fridge. You snapped your fingers twice, making him freeze “Ah, ah. No cake ‘til you hand over the ‘dog. I’m taking my break soon, and I’m _hungry._ ”

Sans grumbled, rolling his eyes and then pulling a white, greaseproof bag out of his pocket, and thrusting it towards you over the counter “Here you go, your majesty.”

“You will address me as Queen Reader, thank you. Now what do you want?”

It didn’t take very long for the skeleton to pick out what he wanted. Though he always actioned as though he was going to choose something else, he was a creature of habit and always went for the same thing; a slice of Apple Pie, spiced with warm toffee and cinnamon flavours, enhanced by your act of heating it a little in the microwave. Just for him. Ordinarily, you’d pop the slice in a box, you’d exchange goodbyes and off he would go, but on this particularly chilly day you suggested he come and sit with you at one of the little tables and eat, spending your respective breaks in each other’s company. Sans was quick to agree, favouring to stay in the warmth of the little cake shop for as long as he could.

You each perched on your stools, paying no mind to your knees touching below the table as you sat and ate your lunches together, quietly and comfortably shooting the breeze and chuckling with one another. There was a little bit of a rush of customers in the shop, hurrying in to buy cake on their lunch breaks, before skipping back out into the street, a few minutes later, treats in hand, seen to by your co-worker, Maggie. Yourself and the skeleton existed in a little bubble on the side lines of the hustle and bustle, the slight buzz of the excited atmosphere infectious, the pair of you drawing in closer across the table to one another, grins sparking to your faces. After a while, however, the flurry calmed, the buzz simmered down, and you relaxed backwards from the table to smile tiredly at your co-worker as she waved the last customer goodbye. Maggie was a slight girl, with wispy blonde hair tied into a messy bun. She puffed out a sigh, her hands on her hips and then returned your smile as she stepped towards your table.

“It’s so weird how it can be so dead one minute, and then there’s like a tidal wave of people the next,” she observed, brightly, shaking her head.

“Do give me a shout if you need me to come back on. It’s ok,” you urged her, but she held up her hand.

“No, no, it’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, things were looking quite cosy, over here; I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You and Sans looked at each other for a moment, then each chuckled lightly. Sans rested his elbow on the table and placed his head in his hand “We weren’t discussin’ anything top secret. I was actually just askin’ Reader, here, how you guys blow off steam when things get a little intense.”

“As they _can_ do,” you admitted, before gesturing to yourself, rounded and chubby, urging a gentle laugh out of Sans as you continued “I, personally, am very talented at comfort-eating myself into oblivion.”

“Or we just go and get fucked after closing, to be totally honest,” Maggie chimed in with a shrug, before her eyes widened and she gripped a hand, suddenly, to your arm “That reminds me, actually, Reader. A bunch of us were thinking about going for a drink this evening, just at the usual place down the road. Are you gonna come a long?”

“Oh, yeah sure. I don’t have any other plans,” you replied, eagerly. Maggie looked at you a little intensely for a significant moment, and then her eyes flicked to Sans. And then back to you… Oh! “Sans! Did you want to come?”

Sans blinked, his usual grin faltering somewhat, as he straightened up a little “Oh, um… I mean, are you sure? If it’s just a work thing, I shouldn’t-“

“No, no, we all just want to purge, honestly, it’s been a long week,” Maggie waved her hand, dismissing Sans’ suggestion.

“Yeah, if you’d like to come, then you should! Bring a few people with you, if you want,” you added, nudging his knee under the table with your own, a smile stretching across your face.

Sans chuckled a little, resting his eyes as he shrugged a shoulder “Well, it does sound like it could be fun. I’ll see what I can _cook_ up.”

You and Maggie looked at him for a moment, puzzled. He frowned a little “It’s a baking joke.”

“Oh, right.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans meets you for drinks!

It was around eight o’clock that night when food places started to close up for the day. Though this particular area of town was right in the city centre, it wasn’t really a place for night-life; built up with tall offices filled with suit-wearers that clocked out at seven at the very latest. Five minutes ticked past the hour, and Sans stepped out of the hot-dog joint he worked in, closing and firmly locking the door behind his two co-workers, who had stepped out in tow. One was a Human, Alex, who couldn’t have been any older than seventeen. He was tall and skinny, fair and pale with dense clusters of freckles scattered over his arms and face, and a mop of ginger hair. The other person was a Monster, Kit; also tall, with dark blue, almost black, velvety skin, that absorbed all the definition in his face, aside from his white, white eyes and teeth. Two sharp ears sat atop his head, and then a pair of what could only be described as bat wings sprouted out, ornamentally, from either side of his skull.

Sans wasn’t very familiar with Kit’s species, Batlinks, but he had clocked on that almost certainly those otherwise useless wings were used to encourage potential ‘mates’ (if you could use such a primal word) into being in their owner’s company. On numerous occasions, the skeleton had spotted him taking an interest in girls, both human and monster, whilst on the job, and the usually-static appendages would get to work, flexing and flapping either side of his face, as he flashed his sharp, white smiles. He seemed to like every girl he came across, and Sans had commented on it, jokingly, more than once, while Kit’s retort was that he was simply too lazy to even notice a pretty girl if she bumped right in to him. The skeleton didn’t really have an answer for that - not one that he could be bothered to generate, anyway.

“So, what are the plans for the rest of the night, Gentlemen?” Kit asked, putting a regal emphasis into his question, for laughs, as he pulled at the lapels of his coat.

Alex heaved a sigh, rocking on the balls of his feet with a roll of his eyes “I have an essay due tomorrow that I haven’t started. So, I’m gonna be writing that.”

Sans hesitated with his own response. Alex was out – underaged and busy - and wasn’t an issue, however if he even hinted at the fact that he was meeting the girls from the cake shop, and having drinks, Kit would _insist_ that he come along too. And it wasn’t that the skeleton objected to spending time with him – he actually quite liked the guy; he was partial to a pun and straightforward to be around. The issue, Sans begrudgingly had to admit to himself, was that he didn’t want to have to introduce him to _you_. He was a creature of habit and had mentally prepared himself for an evening with you and your friends, and he wasn’t sure how adding Kit to the equation would change that dynamic. He wasn’t sure if you would talk to him as much. He wasn’t sure if he would get to buy you a drink, because you’d be all bought up by Kit and his white smile. The skeleton had to try really hard to not groan with dread, when he remembered you had mentioned in passing that you liked tall guys, and then considered the fact that _Kit_ was a tall guy. There were far too many variables in this world.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Kit responding to his own question by announcing “I was actually thinking about going for a drink up the road. Mingle a little. Get merry.”

Far. Too. Many. Variables.

There was no escaping it now; Kit was coming. Kit was _inevitably_ coming. Sans was going to be going to that bar. There wasn’t any way that he could avoid the Batlink and in all honesty, he had zero interest in exerting the energy to fob him off, or try to keep him from meeting you. He just suspected that it would be… unfortunate, from his own perspective. This is the sort of thing that happens when one doesn’t act, when one persistently chooses to do nothing; opportunity passes you by and Sans deserved such outcomes for being a lazy S.O.B, and he knew it. But it still sucked. His, deep, frustrated sigh materialised as a cloud of hot steam against the cold air, after the skeleton had informed the Batlink that that was in fact where _he_ was headed, to meet the girls from the cute cake shop, and Kit’s little wings stretched in excitement as he grinned.

The skeleton somewhat relaxed into fate, the tension softening a little from his chest as the two Monsters entered the bar, the warm, boozy smell filling his nasal cavity. He suggested they grab drinks before trying to find you and your friends, one part convenience and ninety-nine parts Sans assuming he would need something to knock back upon your introduction.

“What do they look like? I’ve got more height on you, so I can probably spot them,” Kit proposed, when they both had paid for their drinks and turned away from the bar to look for you and the group.

Sans hesitated, opting to not describe you “Well, I’m not really sure who’s gonna be here… But one girl, Maggie, she’s kinda thin and pale with light… _Yellow_ hair? God, what do humans call that colour?”

“Blonde, I think.”

“Right, right. She’s blonde. And-” Sans’ sentence died on his tongue as a very loud, distinctive laugh cut through the crowd, and he couldn’t keep his usual grin from growing when he recognised it as only yours. He chuckled and shook his head, pointing in the direction of the laugh “They’re this way. I’d know that laugh anywhere.”

The pair of Monsters eased gingerly through the crowd of chattering people and creatures, taking care to not spill their drinks as Sans led the way, following the happy sound of you. The tension from before fell away even more so, replaced with a small blossom of excitement on his chest, when finally, you came into view.

“So, is your skelly-friend going to be joining us, this evening?” the question was posed, and as if on cue, Sans and Kit reached the side-lines of the group, their appearance hushing the chatter for a moment, until a grin split across your face and you broke the silence.

“Sans!”

“Sans!” Echoed everybody, Maggie, two dark-haired girls, with olive skin, Lena and Holly, and a young man, Jack, a tall pretty-boy with a flamboyant lilt to his voice.

“Hey, everyone, good to see ya,” Sans grinned lightly at each face in the group, before gesturing towards Kit “This is my buddy, Kit. We work together. He was gonna be comin’ over here on his _bone_ some tonight, so I figured he should join us.”

“Of course, the more the merrier! EVERYONE MOVE!” Jack cried comedically, shuffling his chair sideways. Truly, the young man, being the manager of the shop you all worked in, was the leader of the little pack, as everyone in a movable chair did as he had and shuffled to make space for two more seats at the table.

Like second nature, Sans pulled up a chair to the side of your place on the fixed-bench, and you beamed at him, rubbing his head affectionately. He laughed, pushing your hand away and giving you a playful shove with a gentle “Hands off the merchandise!”

You’d already been there an hour and you were proving to be tipsy with only having said one word to him. You continued to shine a rosy-faced smile at the skeleton, before you turned almost robotically and slammed your elbow onto the table, placing your chin in your hand, pointedly, towards Kit.

“Hello.”

This was the same friendliness you had shown when you’d first met Sans, and it made him a little nervous as you pulled personality out of Kit with questions about where he was from, what he did for fun, etcetera, etcetera. And Kit, being the easy-going and forthcoming character that he was, happily obliged your questions, which you had posed to him for the rest of the group as though you were a talk-show host. Everybody sat round and learnt all about the tall Batlink with the sharp white smile, while Sans quietly sipped his drink, observing. Listening. He kept his eyes on you for as much as he could without outright staring, analysing your expression, your voice, your gestures, as conversation orbited around Kit. Laughter erupted every now and again, and as people shared their own relevant anecdotes, eventually, the skeleton found himself laughing as well, gradually easing into this new dynamic. He was comforted by the fact that this equation, though different, still included a subtle but important note; the warmth of your knee resting against his, below the table.

When Kit had finally been initiated into the group, conversation branched out more naturally, operating on tangents from one topic to the next. Sans, who you had noticed had been a bit quiet at first, had started to loosen up a bit, himself, partaking in conversation and very occasionally interjecting it with puns that made everybody groan. You kept an eye on him as his eyes gleaned with satisfaction, and you tittered behind your hand, before gently leaning sideways and bumping your shoulder against his. He glanced his attention at you, his smile growing as you pulled back again and beamed at him for a moment, then turned your head back into the conversation. Just touching base.

There was no danger, here.

This private, little acknowledgement was enough for the skeleton to finally relax, entirely, and he put both of his elbows on the table and slouched his head into his hands. It seemed on this occasion, to his pleasant surprise, his apprehension had been for naught. His eyes, which were closed with his relaxed posture, cracked open as a flashing statement was directed to you.

“Reader!” cried Jack, reaching a hand across the table in gesture, which you grabbed in affectionate acceptance “I never mentioned, earlier, but you look really lovely this evening!”

“Oh, thanks, Jack. You’re sweet!”

“Who are you trying to impress?”

You gave one of your loud, distinctive laughs, cartoonishly throwing your head back, before jeering “Honestly? Anybody that would fucking notice!”

You could be a real jokester, at times, which is why you supposed you and Sans got on so well. His forte was word-play, while you specialised in physical, expressive humour, though you did come out every now and again with a real zinger of a self-deprecating joke. The group around you cackled and groaned in comedic dismay at your relatable self-slander, as you giggled at yourself. What you didn’t notice, however, was Sans’ smile, which had slipped into a straight row of teeth, brow bones raised in surprise at your statement, as he studied the side of your face. You didn’t always wear make-up; you were a sleepy soul, and in the morning always preferred to spend your bonus minutes snoozing as opposed to dolling yourself up. However, in light of you coming out for the evening, you had painted yourself a little prettier than normal, dark eyeliner bringing out the whites of your eyes, behind your glasses, your cheeks rouged and your lips emphasised in a nice deep burgundy. Sans absorbed each detail, thoughtfully.

Anybody that would notice? Really?

A few moments later, you peered with one eye into your empty glass, and rose from the table, announcing that you were going to the bar to grab another drink. No one passed much acknowledgement, engrossed in their own conversations. Kit’s attention was on Holly, using his smoothest voice as he flirted with her, flapping his weird little wings, which she twisted her mouth and quirked an eyebrow at in bemusement, while Lena and Maggie loudly teased Jack about all the boys and girls he’d been all over at their last drinking session. You smirked a little, at your friends, then placed a hand on Sans’s shoulder, tilting your head at his empty glass.

“Did you want anything?”

“Oh! Um,” it seemed, tonight, that Sans had to be snapped out of his thoughts every few moments, his mind consumed by something. He looked at you in light surprise, then at his empty glass “I’ll just come with you. I can get you something.”

“Don’t be daft, let me get this one for a change,” you beamed, as he rose from his seat and you both began to meander to the bar. You nudged into his side, lightly “I’m glad you came out tonight. It’s been a while since we went for a drink together.”

“It’s a very different environment, huh?” Sans observed “I like your friends. They’re a good time.”

“Yeah, they’re not bad, are they?” you agreed. You reached the bar, which was surprisingly, conveniently quiet, and you quickly ordered a second of both your drinks. As the barmaid busied herself with the order, you turned away to observe your group, with hooded lids, heavy with a warm, cosy intoxication, as your friends laughed and jeered. You woke up, suddenly, in a moment of self-awareness, to find that you were single, living miles and miles from your family and every person you knew was a connection built out of your own volition. And leaning against the bar, beside you, was Sans, who kept his own half-lidded gaze on you, smiling gently as happiness shone, privately, in your face. Your heart blossomed; truly, his company was the one you were proudest of. You turned your head and caught his stare and could have sworn you saw a blush rosy his cheeks an un-human blue at the sudden eye contact.

“H-hey, uh,” he stammered, then turned back to the bar, to flag down the barmaid who was pouring your beers “Hey! Can we please get a couple o’ shots over here!?”

“Sans!” you laughed, lightly thumping his shoulder with an open palm “I’m paying for this one, remember? Don’t take advantage of my kindness!”

“Oh, c’mon Reader, why not?” he grinned at you, cheekily, elbowing you gently in the side “I’ll get the next one, and you can order an expensive cocktail or something.”

“Fine,” you sighed with a roll of your eyes. The barmaid brought your original beers over, and then expertly poured your shots, for you as you paid for the lot. Both yourself and the skeleton took a glass each, and turned to face one another “So… Shall we toast? What are we toasting?”

He let out a low chuckle “Well, you caught me staring just now. I was just watching your expression… You looked happy so… To being happy?”

You heaved a deep, contented sigh, then clinked your glass against his “To being happy.”

In unison, you and Sans tipped your heads back and poured your drinks down your throats, the hot burn of whiskey making you cough a little, as it radiated through your body and settled as a warm, happy haze in your brain. You laughed softly, then slung an arm around Sans’ shoulder and pulled him close enough for you to rest the side of your chin on his head “I’m glad you’re here, Sansy.”

“Yeah,” he replied, in a low serenity, relaxing a little into your one-armed embrace. He snaked his own arm around you, his hand resting on your hip “Yeah, me too. You’re good to be around.”

You let out a happy hum, squishing your face into the side of his head, nuzzling him affectionately, both of you laughing, before you unhooked yourself from him, and grabbed your beer from the bar “C’mon, let’s go back.”

“Right behind ya,” Sans kept his eyes on you as he reached for his own drink, which, in his newly hazed state, was probably not wise.

Almost as though in slow motion, the skeleton carelessly bumped his wrist against his beer glass, making it rattle and then inevitably tip, and before he could even think about trying to save it, the glass had fallen onto its side, and the contents had emptied itself out onto the skirt of your denim dress. You let out a shriek as the sudden sensation of cold, wet beer started soaking through your dress and tights.

“SHIT! I’m SO sorry! Here lemme,” he leaned over the bar and waved to the barmaid “Hey, can we get some napkins over here!?”

“Sans, it’s ok. It’ll dry, I’ll be fine!” you tittered meekly. Sans didn’t respond, as he thanked the barmaid for the napkins, and then bunched a few up in his hand, beginning to dab at your skirt “Aw, c’mon dude, you don’t have to do it _for_ me. Gimme.”

You took a couple of napkins from the short stack on the bar, and gently pushed his head out of the way, beginning to mop up the mess yourself. Sans stepped back a little, looking somewhat tense and guilty.

“Aw man, Reader, I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sans, it’s only beer! Don’t worry about it!”

Sans insisted on helping you, resuming dabbing at the wet stain, eyes focused, fixedly, on the task at hand.

“I’ve always liked this dress” he murmured, distantly and you froze “You wore this when we first met.”

Both of you were still and quiet, for a moment, before Sans raised the glow of his empty sockets to you with such a tender and earnest expression that you felt your face heat up, almost immediately, as he finished “… You always look so cute.”

… Cute? You found yourself totally stunned, your heart swelling as your cheeks glowed with a heated embarrassment. You weren’t a stranger to being called ‘cute’. It was a word you used to describe yourself all the time, and the people around you just echoed that sentiment. But not Sans. Sans had _never_ called you cute, before. For a few moments, your mind went completely blank; all you could do was stare at him with wide eyes and a bright, red face.

The skeleton picked up on the fact that his words had gotten you flustered, and a small grin curled into his cheeks. He patiently awaited your response in silence, his free hand still curled around the hem of your skirt.

“I…” you tried, and he looked at you expectantly “You… You think so?”

“Well… yeah,” he replied, slowly tilting his head “Of course I do.”

Oh, god. Oh, god, oh god, what on earth was happening? Butterflies began to go wild in your belly, as your little heart pattered in your chest, your mind trying desperately to think of something to actually say, in response.

“I…” you began. Your words were deliberate, slow and painfully cautious “I… Think you’re… Cute, too.”

Sans’ grin grew even wider and his eyes shined, making you blush harder, still. You had to turn your face away, as his tone teased “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, a goofy smile spreading across your face. You laughed, releasing some tension as you turned your head back more confidently “I… Like your big, round head.”

You had never seen Sans look so satisfied, his grin widening, his eye sockets creasing with delight. This only encouraged your affection, loving the look on his face “I think you’re _really_ cute.”

The pair of you _did_ return to your friends, after that. Quite quickly, actually, considering the little exchange that had occurred between you, but that had been your intended action before Sans had thrown his drink all over you, and what really had changed? Nothing had changed. However, as was often the case when the pair of you were together, you existed in a bubble. And with in that bubble you and the skeleton sat closely together, mirroring each other with your chins in your hands as you spoke to one another quietly, joking and chuckling and _whispering and blushing_.

Had you witnessed this display as an outsider, the phrase you would have used to describe these actions would have been that you were “mooning over each other”, and your group of friends happily opted to not disturb you. You were never excluded from their fun, in the brief moments that you slipped back into reality and chimed in with their conversation, but it didn’t take long for you to be pulled back into Sans’ orbit, as he grinned at you with hooded lids and that face that, now you had described it as ‘cute’ on one singular occasion, was undeniably, irresistibly adorable. What had happened? What was _happening_? All of these wonderful, exciting, heated feelings were just tumbling out of the pandora’s box of your heart, unlatched by that look on his face when he had turned his eyes up at you, hand curled around the skirt of your dress and told you in that god-sent, bass-weighted voice of his that you _always looked so cute._

Was this what this whole thing had been, all along? The homeward walks, the late-night and first-thing texts, the touching knees beneath tables; all habits adopted between you unthinkingly, like second nature. It had just been so… Easy. And you looked back on that feeling of ease and your heart glowed in your chest, before you noticed, sitting next to Sans at the table, that his hand was in yours. When did that happen? Who had initiated it? Did it even matter? How could it possibly matter when it felt so… _Right?_

Every love you’d ever felt before was laboured. There was always some kind of struggle, some kind of heartache. Nervousness and unsureness, tears of insecurity. More often than not you got your heartbroken, even ‘successful’ relationships ending in sadness in the long run. You _always_ knew when you were crushing, when you liked someone, because it ate up your life, like a woman possessed but with Sans… He just appeared one day and curled up with a pillow and a blanket in the den of your day-to-day with no disruption, no panic, no tears. You didn’t notice. Just like you hadn’t noticed when you’d started holding hands. It just happened. Hand in hand with your skeleton friend outside the bar, in the cold January night, as he puffed on a cigarette, you woke up suddenly in a moment of self-awareness and found that you were living miles and miles from your family and every person you knew was a connection built out of your own volition. And Sans the Skeleton had become your go-to, your best buddy, your little anchor point, your… Person.

And you liked him. You _really_ liked him.

You couldn’t get enough of him, you soaked up his every word, and every laugh and every look as the night went on. You moved from the table, to the bar, to the smoking area, back to the table, in a repeating pattern that just revolved around being next to Sans, drinking up every last drop of his attention as he gladly showered you with more and more and you were giddy, no, _drunk_ from the feeling.

The atmosphere between you was a foggy, pink haze, that followed you everywhere, right up to the train station, when everyone had parted ways, and it was just yourself and Sans, alone now, making your usual journey homewards, together. It was only when you reached the station that a bit of sense was knocked back into you, as you and the skeleton looked at the notice boards to establish when your respective trains, headed in different directions, were going to be getting in.

“… Closures?” you cried, suddenly, your smile dropping into a frown for the first time in a few hours, now. Fortunately for you, the closures weren’t interrupting your _own_ journey home but… “Sans, half of the line is closed. How are you going to get home?”

Sans twisted his mouth, in consideration, before shrugging a shoulder “I dunno. Somehow, I guess.”

“What do you mean, _somehow?_ You live on the other side of town.”

“I know a shortcu-“

“Come and stay at mine.”

In instinctive kindness, you had blurted that out unthinkingly, and it was only when you heard you own voice saying such a thing that you were suddenly struck with the gravity of how such a proposal could be interpreted. You were _still_ holding hands, but as soon as your words registered between you, you and the skeleton immediately dropped your grasp on each other and busied your hands with something else, messing with zippers, toying with hair, rummaging in pockets and trying very, very hard to not show the other person how _hot your faces had gone._

“N-no, it’s really OK, I shouldn’t impose,” Sans stammered, and you willed your heart not to sink with disappointment. But of course, it did. You fidgeted, a silence hanging between you. Two normal people, in a normal friendship would just say their goodbyes and go about the rest of their respective journeys home. But now that the prospect of being close to each other for the remainder of the night had been brought to the table, you found yourself caught on the skeleton, once again lagging in time, like when you’d first met. Unsure how to proceed.

“U-unless,” Unless? “You… want me to… Come home with you.”

The skeleton looked at you _very_ carefully, reading your face as it flushed an even deeper shade of red, but your mouth, a straight, serious line said, firmly “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I think that’s a good idea,” you affirmed, pragmatically “It’s late, and it’s cold. We can worry about getting you home, tomorrow.”

“… OK, then.”

And so it was.

Sans waited with you on the platform and got on your train with you. He sat next to you for the whole journey and got off at your station. He got the bus with you, from the station to the corner shop down the street from your house. And after you both opted to pick up a couple of extra drinks from the shop, he then remained at your side as you walked to your house together. Conversation was not in its usual health; the atmosphere was a little tense and stiff. Truly, by allowing Sans to step into your territory, a line was being crossed and a profound nervousness hung in the air. But there was also a hint of excitement. A lot of coy smiles and shy laughs, and still, you remained closely at each other’s sides, shoulder to shoulder, touching knees and rubbing elbows. In fact, it was when you were waiting for the bus that you were struck with a tender shock, as your gloved hand was suddenly filled with Sans’ slightly bigger one, and you’d shied your face into your scarf and squeezed.

Your keys jingled as you lifted them to unlock your front door, and pushed it open, reaching through to thump on the light switch with your fist, illuminating the stairs up to your flat. You and Sans looked at each other, stood at the line you were about to cross together, and you smiled.

“… Come on, then.”


End file.
